


Mor, please

by CabinFeverHaver



Category: Monster Lover - Fandom, Original Work (monster fucker)
Genre: F/F, Lesbian, Minor Angst, Orc Lady, Smut, leathersmith girlfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 18:29:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20493311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CabinFeverHaver/pseuds/CabinFeverHaver
Summary: In which you are forced to escape a dire situation, and happen into the arms of the most beautiful orc you have ever seen.Or: this is my first fic ever, that me and my friend made (thanks jackie <3!!!!!)





	Mor, please

It was a blow to the heart, really. To be driven out of hearth and home by the entire village screaming “WITCH!” at you, knowing it was at the hands of your supposed lover. It stung more severely than any nettle, harder than your throat now stung from the sharp, autumnal, air. The whole “running for your life” thing wasn’t doing you any favors either - the thought of having to look over your shoulder for the next few moons already filled you with dread. 

Right now though, all you could hope for is a forgotten past and a more forgiving village than the one you had recently made the mistake of settling in. That hope seems to become less of a fantasy, you realize, as you see the warm lights of what appears to be a secluded worksmith cottage of sorts, coming closer and closer. Close enough you could make out the homey appearance of the interior, and you can’t help the feeling of relief that washes over you before you even reach the door. When you do arrive at the threshold of the homestead, you all but throw yourself at the oak door before hastily (and loudly) announcing your presence to the residents within. You pause a moment. No response. The sharp whip of barking dogs in the distance startle you past the point of what you thought to be humanly possible and you begin banging your fists and screaming for help at the door. In a moment, the seemingly impenetrable nature of this barrier opened to be replaced by another solid figure. Just about wide and tall as the door you were previously abusing, this one however, (you can’t help admitting, even in this time of urgency) happened to be strikingly more beautiful. Full and pierced tusks framed her strong face, looking down upon you with a look that can only be described as a mix between pity and terror, only to be quickly replaced with a withering glare. One that did nothing to halt your still falling fist from the previous door abuse you were administering only seconds ago. No, it was this beautiful orc woman’s massive hand that caught your momentum fueled arm. You are struck with the shock of the night in that moment and find yourself unable to speak, just standing there gawking at the woman before you. She then gives you a look of unamused question, the ever closer baying of those damned hunt hounds snap you out of your reverie, forcing your mouth to form a loose plead for help, at least for the night. The mysterious woman holds up a hand to silence your frightened rambling, looking into the distant darkness that lay outside of the ring of light that was her home. You feel guilty now, for potentially bringing unnecessary danger into this stranger’s life. 

But before you can dwell on it for a moment longer, the impeccably strong grip on your arm pulls you beyond the threshold and into the cottage. Your newfound savior (for the time being) holds her back against the now rattling door, and holds you even closer with both of her muscular sage green arms wrapped around the entire circumference of your body. 

You find yourself shaking then, your teeth audibly chattering from fear as you try and fail to hold back the silent tears that now stream down your face. Anticipating the next wave of your terror, and the sob you are about to release that would surely give away your position, one massive green hand comes to cover your mouth before it can be heard by the hunters outside. You appreciate the action, even though you’re sure they have already seen you and won’t leave until they get what they came for. You also notice said hand is oddly comforting. You think it must have something to do with the calloused thumb gently caressing your cheek as you silently weep.

You stop shaking, and soon after that the tears subside. So caught up in your own terror you failed to notice the way your hands had found their way around the arms holding you tight -- failed to notice that the hunters had already left -- and the fact that this nameless hero held you in her arms for long enough for you to calm down. Slowly detaching yourself from her grasp and turning to face your protector, you thank her, asking for the name you wish to put to her face.  
“Mor.” She replied bluntly, and after repeating it back to her and introducing yourself as well, you notice how much you like the way it rolls off of your tongue.  
“I..” you pause, now ashamed of the incident that had just occurred, “I really am sorry about that, I am afraid they may not leave you alone for a few days.”  
Mor just shook her head, waving off your apology before placing an iron bar across the door and leading you to the table set up right next to what looked like a kitchen. She wordlessly pulls out a chair for you, then goes to put on a kettle of boiling water, calmly as ever, as if this kind of thing happens everyday. “You know,” Her deep but feminine voice startles you out of your haze, “I wouldn’t worry about those thugs if I were you.” She turns to face you now, “Big scary orc women like me tend to scare putrid fellows like them off.” With a smirk in her gaze, she sends you a nonchalant wink. Despite the traumatic incident that occurred so recently, you can’t help but blush reverently and laugh at her flirty and light-hearted comfort that washes away all of the tension in your body. You think Mor must see you relax, judging from the subtle and warm smile that spreads across her face as she brings two large mugs over to the table. She sets one the huge mugs in front of you, trying to hide her amusement as you have to use two hands to grasp it’s red ceramic. The tea smells of honey and looks to be mixed with milk. After you take a shaky and tentative sip, you realize you were a fool for never taking your tea this way. 

Mor looks at you expectantly, obviously looking for an explanation for your appearance in the middle of the night, pleading for help at her doorstep. Taking a deep breath, you explain the events of the night best you can through a shaky voice. Even as much as it terrifies you that she might drive out for the exact same reason, you remember orcs being an accepting people and hope to the gods that what you assume is correct for this particular orc before you. To your relief, Mor only nods. She tells you that you are welcome here for as long as you need, so long as you don’t mind being put to work. You learn, soon enough, that Mor is leathersmith, a quite popular one at that too. You quietly hope she isn’t as popular so that it may garner the attention of your hunters to you, or her. The two of you share some more conversation, not all of it pertaining to the immediate past you had both shared, but rather, the pasts that neither of you knew existed before meeting the other.

When you manage to finally drain the last dregs of your ridiculously large mug, you suddenly feel the full weight of the night’s happenings pull down on you. Mor notices this and moves across the floor of the cottage to open a closet full of furs and quilts. After some thorough inspection on her part that you don’t fail to miss, she selects several thick furs and a couple of cushions and rolls them out on the floor, near the hearth of the cottage.  
“You can sleep here for now, until I figure out something more suitable.” She says almost bashfully. You open your mouth to express your gratitude but Mor just waves your attempts off.  
“You worry about thanking me later, but for now, just get some rest. You’ll need it for the work we’ll do tomorrow.” With that, Mor retreated into her own room, but not before giving you a smile that lay somewhere between a welcome and shy affection. 

Nestling among the furs, you catch your first saturated whiff of the orc’s earthy lavender scent since crying from fear in her arms. The fresh memory causes tears to once again fall from your eyes, but the exhaustion seems to find you before the fear does, and with that: you fall asleep. 

***

The next morning, you awake to the sound of wood being chopped outside, and the cool morning sun in your eyes. Taking in your surroundings, you recount the events of last night, how you got here. You get up, and while rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and looking to fill your mug from the night before with some cool water you find a note from Mor.  
We have lots of work to do, I’m out with the firewood. The well isn’t far, you can start with filling the two water pails by the door.  
You sigh with ache, your body sore, but really, what did you expect? She did say that your were going to be put to work if you were to stay. Content with a task to complete, rather than just sitting around idle in the early morning, you rush out of the cottage door to begin what promises to be a busy first day of your new life.

***

It’s nearly been a full moon passing since the fateful night that brought you to Mor’s doorstep had come and go. You are finally starting to adjust to your life here with said orc. Not that you had been intending on letting her know of your wanton attraction to her, but the way that she often flirtatiously interacts with you hasn’t made it any easier either. In fact, as you had become more and more comfortable in the setting of the woods surrounding Mor’s cottage, the makeshift bedroom the both of you had erected around your new bed in a well-off corner of the cottage (made of paper and wood screens), and the leather work room you had become so well acquainted with -- Mor paralleled this growth in her own way as well. It seemed to you that she was getting bolder by the day, more free with her emotions -- all of them. It was not an uncommon sight for the two of you to spend long hours at the kitchen table, drinking mead from your designated mugs, singing, laughing, telling the other secrets never before heard by another living soul. 

So with this development in Mor, you hadn’t found a reason to question the seemingly stormy mood the orc had sported all day since you had first seen her that morning. The time to head into the nearest village (thankfully not the one you had fled from) and sell her leather wares was coming near. You knew full well why Mor was so anxious about this monthly event -- the humans and nonhuman population of that town were, say, not the kindest to Mor, as she had explained to you one hazy night. For it was a situation quite similar to yours, save for the fact that Mor’s leatherworks were some of the best and most finely crafted in the region and her impeccable and intimidating presence kept her safe from any harm that could come her way. 

You envied the well-rounded orc in that way as well. Compared to Mor’s skills in nearly all branches of life, you seemed useless and weak. This was a feeling that has been surfacing in your mind a lot recently; one that simultaneously made your knees weaken and your heart flutter, as well as sending sparks of self-pity straight to your head. You have long since crossed the point of no return with Mor. To you, there was no use in denying yourself those often late-night fantasies of the strong orc woman. No use in denying your growing romantic affection for her either. 

It was around midday when you were about half-way done with a new batch of dagger sheath cut-outs when your strength and control of the heavy press machine had started to falter. The surprising sweltering heat of the autumn day was one that you had not been prepared for and the sweat collecting on every inch of your body did you no favors in assisting your grip on the hard to wield machine. A gruff scoff from behind startles you enough for you to let out a small yelp. Turning around, you come face to face with Mor, who is leaning against the workbench opposite your current work station. Her voice was still as sour as it was this morning, but you notice the tired undertones in her inflection that you can only assume are after-effects from the exertion she puts into her own worry, “Having trouble with that, sweet?” At the sound of that name, your face burns and all you can do is hope that she cannot see how much it has affected you. Quickly wiping your sweaty palms on your apron you muster up a stuttered excuse about the heat, that you hope doesn’t make you sound too much like a wilting maiden.  
“I could take over the press if you would rather stitch for the afternoon.” The way Mor says it, it sounds more like a demand than a suggestion, but your pride refuses to take surrender as a solution. You shake your head in dismissal of the offer.  
“I can handle it now, just got tired for a second.” With that you roll up your sleeves and turn around, dead set on getting back to work at a regular (maybe even efficient) pace. Anything to take Mor’s withering glare off you and your work. That glare and silent judgment that shows how much she really thinks of your physical strength as a human. That stare that feels like she is picking through every layer of your defenses, as if she could see right through you. Being so caught up in your desperation to get back on track, to prove something to Mor, you fail to notice how close she has moved to stand behind you, how her large hands only just hover above your waist. How she hungrily eyes the nape of your neck, and the conjunction of the back of your ear and your neck. A spot she’s so sure must be sensitive, among other things. How she so desires to place her lips on every inch of your exposed skin. It’s been a real struggle for Mor recently, what, with your wanton disregard for modesty, yet bashful way of going about life. It takes everything within the woman to keep herself off of you, in this moment, and every other moment of any given day. And her worrying, no doubt, about the upcoming trade visit has been doubled since your arrival. You couldn’t defend yourself against the hate of the townspeople like she could. She worried for your safety. See, Mor knew she could protect you physically from any threat, if the situation arose, but it was the psychological damages against you that she worried about the most. 

But, she had to admit that your absolute defiance against taking an easier job was amusing. It definitely took her mind from her worries for the time being. That is why she hesitated now, not sure how to act in the moment. You seem oblivious to her indecision though, which is soon resolved as she decides to tease you a bit to take her mind off of things. Leaning down low, she breathes a husky whisper in your ear while caging you in her arms as she reaches around you to grab the handles of the press, covering her large, rough, hands over your small ones.  
“Your technique seems to be off, little one.” She can hear the audible way your breath hitches as she moves even closer, pressing her front against your back. Another wash of warm but pleasant breath spreads across your cheek as she moves to mutter into the spot behind your ear, “You’ll just tire yourself out again, at this rate.”  
The way her words vibrate lightly against the sensitive skin makes you shudder against the impossibly strong physique pressed behind you. You don’t even have it in you to retaliate against that statement, her proximity too intoxicating to deny. Mor chuckles to herself in seeing that her assumptions about your erogenous zones were correct. As she stores that information for a potential future situation, the butterflies that have been flitting around her stomach then move to pool in her core. This was becoming a lot, very fast, Mor decides to finish up her “demonstration” for you before she really can’t stop herself from practically devouring you whole. She then leaves you to work, but not before leaving you with a cheeky comment about picking up the pace and possibly an even cockier kiss on the cheek.  
You can’t even properly move at that point, and as soon as you’re sure that that sauve, suave woman is out of sight, you nearly collapse on account of your weak knees as you try to gain your composure once again.

***

The day that the humble leathersmith must take her wares into the village to trade had finally come. Mor was terrified. At first she had insisted on you staying at the cottage, making up a weak excuse about not wanting to leave the storeroom unattended. More resolute than ever, and never one to be left behind, you put your foot down. Since your time working with Mor, the both of you have produced more goods than the leathersmith had ever been able to make on her own. There was no way she could handle all that excess merchandise on her own, and the both of you knew it. But the recurring thought that you could get hurt out there haunted Mor intensely. It pained her to relive that potential scenario and a thousand others in her mind at every passing hour. 

In the end, you got your way (which surely could not be achieved without some sweet talk on your part, and the reassurance that you could hold your own out there). The trip to town was silent save for the anxious way that Mor hummed some orcish tune to herself, a self soothing method no doubt. You decided not to comment on it, instead focusing on keeping the cart you were managing steady and offering looks of support and comfort Mor’s way whenever the tall orc woman so much as glanced at you. Today was going to be fine, you had told her -- you had told yourself. And by gods, you sure hoped that you were right. 

Upon arriving at the marketplace, you immediately realized why Mor was so reluctant to return to her former home. The glares of the local merchants and customers seemed to drill into both you and Mor as you tried to set up shop as quickly as possible. But as soon as everything was in place and ready for business, the glares subsided. At least business commerce is treated with some level of respect around here, you think to yourself as the market resumes its natural hum of busy. 

The rest of the day moves along quite fast, and it’s not even near sunset when all of your goods have been completely sold out. Working as hastily as possible to collapse displays and load up carts, with a fervent desire to rid yourself of this place, both you and Mor fail to notice a group of skulking human men that have been eyeing you out from across the marketplace. It’s only when they arrive far too close for comfort that you yelp in surprise as one of them places a rough hand your waist. It is not the kind of rough that you like. Your yelp of fear catches Mor’s attention, causing her to drop the tether she was knotting to the cart, only to watch the rest of the men circle around you.  
“What’s a little mouse like you doing hanging around a scary orc like that, huh?” The apparent leader leers at you. “Yeah,” another adds, his voice gravel-y in an unpleasant way, “I’d think she’d have a better time with us, right boys?”  
Fear rips your heart, leaving you unable to move or even make an unpleasant face at them. You hate yourself for it, the way you are immobilized by these scum of men. One of the slimier of the group moves to grab your arm, to surely lead you somewhere unpleasant. But before he can even get close, Mor breaks through the group, tugging you close to her. Graciously breaking the contact the leader had on your body. She then released a sound that you’ve never heard from her before, a deep but resounding growl came from her snarled lips as she bared her tusks at the men she dwarfed before her. Some of the group had broken away from the soon to come altercation, leaving just the leader the slimy fellow who was about to touch you to fend for themselves.  
“You best leave. Now. Before I rip your arms from their sockets for even daring to touch her.” Her authoritative tone is one you’re sure you would never want aimed at you. You cannot see the faces of your assailants, as you currently have your face pressed against Mor’s heaving chest, but you relish in the fact you can perfectly picture their faces wrought with terror over being confronted by the terrifying wrath of the orc woman. You hear what seems to be a threat from the leader; something about how Mor is going to regret interfering with his “business”. Mor simply just pushes you behind her, all the while never losing contact with you as she proceeds to push both the leader and his first mate down into the dirt. You see that she is about to stomp them down, but your insistent grip on her rippling bicep causes her to halt. She looks at you with this look in her eyes that you can’t place at first, but later recognized as fear.  
“Please,” you say, in a tone just above a whisper, “Mor, let’s just go home. Please.” She goes soft at your please, the way your lips and worried expression morph the word. Turning back harshly to the delinquents on the ground, she speaks through gritted teeth, “This was your warning. Next time I see you anywhere near us, I will make sure to personally hunt you down,” now leaning in closer to the frightened faces of the men, she whispers, “And next time… I will not be nearly as forgiving.”  
With that, Mor all but throws you into a fireman's carry as she ushers you to the carts, both of you eager to leave this place behind for good.

***

The second the two of you walk in through the door to the cottage, you both slump from equal parts relief and exhaustion. No sooner had Mor barred the door, a precaution you noticed she took whenever she felt necessary, the towering orc woman rushed over to you. Surprising you, as she took your face into both of her large hands, searching your face, then your body for any signs of physical damage. She returns to your open and overwhelmed gaze, your almost inaudible whisper of “I’m fine,” you pause, on the verge of tears, “Promise.” Rings through the silent homestead.

You tenderly place your hand on top of hers, and it makes something inside her snap, pulling you into the most charged embrace the two of you have ever shared. 

You’re stunned at first, but then fall willingly into the embrace, wrapping your arms around her neck and broad shoulders. Her breaths shudder and she holds you ever closer and her worry is peeling off of her in waves. It takes everything in you not to cry from all of the emotions coursing through you right now, although, you can’t help the strained and cracking laughs of relief that you release as Mor starts to sway you from side to side, arms wrapped in a vice around your waist. After a few moments of shaky embrace in the middle of the cottage, Mor begins to still. Pressing her cheek right against your temple, she whispers in your ear, softly, tenderly, “Gods, I thought I was going to lose you there for a second.”  
You nod solemnly, still shameful of your inept non-action against your terrors.  
“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you for even a fraction of that second.” You reply.  
Mor just pulls you tighter to her at that, as if you will slip away from her if she were to let go.  
“Mor, look at me.” You urge. Mor slowly, reluctantly loosens her grip on you to look down with soft tears shining her eyes. You coo softly at her now, gripping her face similarly as to she had held yours. Though, your hands were none in comparison to hers. You see now the way that Mor relishes the delicate feeling of your warm, soft hands on her weathered skin, and you feel like you are truly seeing her for the first time, all of her. It fills you with a surge of love that makes you want to kiss all of the worry from the orc’s beautiful sage face. The anticipation in her eyes is clear as you begin to rub soft circles into her cheek with your thumb. You brush over her mossy freckles, her pale scars.  
“I couldn't leave you, Mor. Not so long as I can help it.” It’s a whisper, a promise. You can see that Mor recognizes it for what it is: an admission of your love for her. Her eyes spark with that realization and if it’s even possible, the orc under your hands becomes more pliant, more tender than ever before.  
“It causes me too much agony to even fathom a reality where I leave you.” You admit, now unashamed in this vulnerable moment. In this moment, all shortcomings, all hesitations. They meant nothing. 

Mor pulls you close to her, now pinning you with that look that would (before now) normally dissect every layer of your facade, leaving you uncomfortably bare. That same look holds new meaning now. When you feel all of your layers being picked apart by her gaze, the feeling is not that of uncomfort. It is reborn. It is a feeling you never want to stop feeling. She raises one large hand to trail up your back, your neck, to brush a stray strand behind your ear, then to finally tangle in your hair -- angling your face more towards her liking. 

She leans in close.

“Then feel that agony no longer, my dear.” She kisses you then, languid and perfect. The way her cold tusk rings graze your skin makes you quiver, sparking a desire that has been laying deep in your gut, waiting for the right moment to be awakened. You pull Mor closer to you. Impossibly closer. Closer and closer until she reaches down to heartily grip the backs of your thighs to carry you up and off the ground. Breaking the kiss for only seconds at a time, she stumbles her way back to her bedroom, a place you have only visited a few times previous to now. All of those times severely different to this. She then throws you upon the bed, chuckling at your light squeak of surprise. You break into a peal of laughter as well. It is a golden moment to you, one filled with love and humility. You sigh as Mor moves between your legs, spread as well as they could be, despite the restrictions of your skirt. Mor leans down to caress your sides as she kisses you once more. Her hands move lower to push your skirt and slip up to your hips. She moans throatily at the sight of your exposed thighs and a near growl escapes her when she pushes your skirt beyond the purchase of your hips, exposing you fully to her hungry gaze. Well, almost fully, you remember you still had a single layer of undergarments separating you from her desire. She toys with the hem of the garment and as soon as you give her a nod of encouragement, she pulls them hastily from your form. From there, Mor then moves to untie the laces of your worn boots, tossing them to the side and removing your stockings as well. You look down at her all the while, mesmerized by her fluid motions as she removes her leather chest bindings in one fell swoop — her leggings are off next. Climbing back into bed, between your legs again, you raise your hands to cup her pale green breasts, thumbing over a dark nipple. She grabs your hips, pulling you down hard against her own thigh and applying apt pressure down there. You breathe a moan while looking intensely into the eyes of the simply goddess-like woman before you. 

The eye contact and Mor’s need to see you fully bare before her, has the both of you scrambling to remove the last of your clothes until you are both naked before each other -- nothing to hide. You blush and look away, only for Mor to take her strong hand to your jaw and turn your head to face her. Her pupils are blown wide with hunger and lust and the rough hold she has on you excites you to the brink of insanity. It takes all of three swift movements from Mor to have you spread before her, your core already dripping in anticipation of it all. The lust-crazed woman hums in satisfaction when you hungrily accept one of her thick fingers plunging inside, your head thrown back on the sheets already. Leaning down, Mor breathes a few puffs of hot air across your clit and chuckles at how quickly you take to another one of her digits. The moan she releases against your clit is absolutely filthy and nothing in this world could have prepared you for the way her tongue hungrily licks across the hot bud of pleasure at your highest point. Mor decides to keep up this pace, slowly adding a third of her fingers. They piston in and out of your dripping pussy and the added stimulation of her tongue on your clit, you have never felt more alive. It’s all you can do at this point to just lay there, gripping at her hair and chanting her name over and over again. With a particularly harsh thrust of her fingers, an especially loud cry of her name is wrenched from your lips. She rises at this, never ceasing the pace of her fingers, and smirks. Oh gods, that smirk. It could have you come undone right then and there, and from the way you clench around her fingers, Mor can tell you’re close as well.  
“So it’s more you want?” You would have laughed at that innuendo on her own name, if you weren’t on the precipice of total sensory overload. You somehow manage to nod your head in a jerky motion. The look on Mor’s face is one you’ll never forget as she quickly throws your left leg over her shoulder and she adds a fourth finger. After a few seconds, she looks up at you for confirmation, and you just plead for more, more, more, Mor. She slows her pace for a moment, crooking her fingers to find the spot that makes you writhe so freely beneath her, moving intensely but carefully so as not to hurt you.

The wanton moans that leave your mouth are uncontrollable at this point. The near impossible stretch of your small human pussy around her hand is one you’ll soon crave unrelentlessly. Mor just gazes down at you, seemingly proud of her handiwork. 

She breathes out something in orcish that you can’t understand, but the way her mother tongue rolls out of her mouth has you convulsing around her fist still fucking you. The broken cry you let out is foreign to you, and you tremble with sensitivity as Mor presses kisses and love bites to the inside of you thighs as she brings you back down to earth. Panting, you give Mor a look of satisfaction. She leans down to press her full torso against your own -- all heat and soft scarred skin. You gasp at the feeling of her breasts being pressed against your chest and you adore the way you are practically pinned beneath her incredible muscular weight. The way she nuzzles against your neck, murmuring infinite praises against your skin makes you about ready for another go. She doesn’t stop there either, instead moving to the other side of your neck to nip and kiss at the sensitive skin. Mor thinks of how grateful she is for finding a lover as pliant as you. 

You run your hands up and down Mor’s shoulders and neck as she continues to pepper kisses along your neck. You murmur something about taking care of her as well, she responds by moaning low against your skin.  
“You’re sure you’re not too sensitive?” The once again hungry look in her eyes sparks something inside that tells you, sensitive or not, you want to make her feel good by any means necessary. With a reassurance that you’re o.k. to go, Mor moves seductively down your body, trailing her hands all along the way, to throw your leg over her shoulder again. With that, she places her slick labia against your own and presses hard, you both inhale the same kind of gasp as she starts to set the pace. The way her larger clit occasionally swipes against your own sensitive bud is only a plus. The goal now is to make Mor cum. You reach up the best you can to tease her pert nipples, but she just gruffly orders you to lie down a take it. She likes it when you let her work herself against you. That feeling of weakness washes over you again, but it’s novel now, it consists only of the aspects that make your limbs stop working the way they should. If that’s the part you that Mor likes, so be it.

You go limp against the grinding down below, letting Mor have her way with you. In a few moments you begin to feel Mor’s hips stutter, and you make sure to watch closely as she comes undone above you. As if this woman couldn’t get any more beautiful.

After riding out her high, Mor collapses next to you, holding you in her loose, sweaty, embrace. You return the affection, worming your way into the crook of her neck, breathing in her sexed out scent. She turns to kiss your forehead sweetly and the two of you drift away like that, bare, exhausted and entangled in eachothers arms, in each other's hearts.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope whoever read this enjoyed it! I doubt it’ll get many views but who knows, i had a fun time writing anyways!


End file.
